


5 Senses

by took_skye



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dirty Talk, Elves, F/M, First Time, Interspecies, Interspecies Sex, Oral Sex, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-14 17:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14140542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/took_skye/pseuds/took_skye
Summary: “…I was curious of your taste.”





	1. Taste

**Author's Note:**

> All Elvish - specifically Sindarin, which is what Thranduil speaks - translations can be found at the end of each chapter for those who are curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“…I was curious of your taste.”_

It’d been long since I had the feeling of an outsider in my own home, but here it returned, strengthened, as the Elves of Mirkwood whispered about the firen among their guests. Some spoke in interest, some in worry, others insult, but all were careful to avoid me as a being. There would be no direct acknowledgement of my existence until the Elvenking had his say in it.

His statement was short; a cold raking of eyes over my body, a sigh, and a declaration to begin the feast of Ethuil.

After the feast there was wine and music and singing and dancing and I escaped it all to settle just beyond the walls to take in the night sky. These were not my people, but neither was Man. As a child I wondered what had made me so undesirable to the Edain that I would be left to die…at least with the Elves I knew. I did not shine, I did not flow or float through existence as they did. No matter how skilled, how poised, I was for my own kind I would always be flawed for theirs. And, one day, I would grow old and die.

“You are not attending my festivities.” The voice was glass-smooth, deep as a cave. “You do me great dishonor.” He hissed slightly in the last word so that I shivered into my turn.

He stood tall as an Anod with silken white hair and skin that shone in the moonlight. Rarely did I pay much mind to the appearance of Elves these days, but the king seemed beyond others of his kind. In iced eyes I gave up my voice in favor of controlling my body, denying myself the urge to touch what was forbidden. 

“You dare refuse to speak to a king?” He switched to the common tongue, perhaps thinking I could not speak Sindarin.

“Forgive me, your highness,” I lowered my head, snapped back into reality. “I did not dare to dream one such as yourself would speak to me.”

His breath suggested pleasure at my words, but his message was the same. “You are not attending my festivities. What am I to take from this?”

I raised my head, but not my eyes. “I fear am I not welcome. Not…not by you, your majesty, but by others. I do not belong, I know this. I did not wish to become a distraction to your celebration.” The words were placation, but only in their delivery. I knew I was a distraction, I knew I did not belong, and I did fear that I was unwelcome by at least some of the revelers.

“Look at me, Adaneth.” Thranduil ordered, I obeyed. “Your people are my guests, therefore you are my guest. I will not have my guests in an un-festive manner on the feast of Ethuil, it does not bode well for the new year.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

The Elvenking’s lips flicked up, then he began to lean. Down. In. The smell of fresh trees and wildflowers filled my nose as his breath became a cool breeze on my cheek. Once pressed, however, his lips were warm. Warm and soft and he turned into stars as everything around us went black.

* * *

I awoke wrapped in silk with the sensation of feathery clouds beneath. The only light came from the moon and the man settled as if upon his throne before me. “I am accustomed to the behaviors of the males of your race,” he soothed out. “But, tell me, do the females faint with frequency?”

His delivery was either in earnest or poorly executed jest and left me unsure how to answer. I begged forgiveness. “Goheno nîn, Aran Thranduil.” I examined the bed born from a tree I’d been lain in, I examined the similar chair Thranduil lounged in, but I dare not look at the Elvenking.

“Are you frightened?”

“Ashamed.”

In a single, swift, move he was on the bed beside me. “Look at me.” I did. “Do not hide your shame from me again, Adaneth.”

“Yes, your highness.”

He closed in and I focused only on remaining still, with eyes open, as Thranduil’s scent again threatened to overwhelm. My breath held as soft lips again hit my skin; this time I could feel the warmth of them spread through me, pool in my belly. In his draw back his head tilted with interest and I saw it was a test, though of what was not clear.

“You smell, taste, of Ennor, is this always so?”

I shrugged, unsure what to make of the statement or the question that followed it. Elves could sense things I never could and their tastes were not always the same. I could not discern if this was a compliment, insult, or merely commentary…and I dared not presume any should I risk offense.

Thranduil leaned in, my breath held, and he paused. “Do you wish not to be kissed?

“I wish not to faint,” I blurted the confession so that his lips curled in amusement.

“Worry not, frail child, I would catch you as before.”

Reassuring hands cupped my face, added chill to compliment the heat of his mouth, as it sought and caught mine. While there were thousands of years experience to his actions, there was testing too. The kiss growing hard, demanding submission, before lightening into a tease, then back to dominating again. His tongue ran along my lips only to brush past in search of my tongue, teasing it, tempting it to follow his movements. He tasted heavily of wine and berried sweets.

I shuddered as a hand traveled down from face to collarbone to breast, whimpered when it pulled away. The iciness of his eyes thawed only to be replaced by a blue blaze as the tips of his fingers returned. There was a rush that soared through my veins, set bumps across my flesh, and propelled my lips to his.

Even in taking the initiative there was no doubting the king was in charge. The king whose touch turned into grab, grope, massage as nipples grew hard against the soft fabric that separated his skin from mine. The king who, so swift I cannot remember how, put me on my back with thighs spread to cradle his body. The king who, in a single rut across my body, released an excitement from within that I’d never felt.

A gasp escaped at the sudden wetness between my thighs, the stick of my slip against the back of my legs. His arousal was undeniable, pressing, grinding, against my pelvis. My hands fumbled to unclasp and unknot his tunic, expose marble skin to my hungry mouth; his hands tore, as if my gown were fân, and I arched when his mouth devoured bare breasts.

Perhaps I should have asked why - why me, why now - but I dared not speak lest I break the spell.

With hands moving up my dress, grazing across slowly exposed skin, Thranduil continued down the terrain of my body. His tongue, teeth, lips devoted itself to every peak and valley to be found until mouth met hands at the hips. “Edro.” He ordered and I obeyed.

“Gods!” I cried as his tongue slipped between my folds, flicked against the bundle of nerves only my own hands had touched before. The reaction pleased him as his cool laugh chilled before he repeated the act. My legs attempted to close in the overwhelming rush of his ministrations, but his hands quickly took the option from me. He held me down, still, opened wide for him to do as he pleased…as I pleased, begging to him and the Valar and every being in existence for him to never stop.

The heat of his mouth attended to my clit, kissing softly, then suckling at it, before letting cool air brush across it so that I risked jumping. His tongue lapped at my juices, drew teasingly around my entry, before dipping in to taste my arousal from its source.

I mewled, a hint of discomfort mixing with the pleasure, as a slickened finger replaced the tip of his tongue. My hips rolled on instinct; my desire fell to need as another finger stretched me. I could not speak, could not think, beyond my gasping arousal. The flame begun in my belly turned raging fire that spread throughout, drove tension into my muscles, flooded my cunt and thighs.

I saw nothing, heard nothing, as the blackness and stars threatened to take me over again. I felt only Thranduil - his fingers caressing a place inside I’d never known existed, his mouth tasting every ounce of me, his breath causing shudders - and my own heart pounding against my ribs. I arched in a high gasp, gripped the king’s sheets, and shook with such intensity I feared something was wrong with me.

As quickly as I was overwhelmed, I was relaxed in a way I’d not experienced before. I felt as if I finally understood the word bliss in its truest form. There was a whimper in my panting as the king pulled his fingers from me and I was left hollow.

“Thuia,” he reminded softly, sternly, as he settled to lay beside me. “I cannot abide you losing consciousness with every contact we make.”

My next exhale was a small laugh, then I grew hopeful. “There will be more?”

“Not tonight.” I frowned and it was his turn to laugh. “We’ve been gone from the festivities far too long.”

“What about you? Your desire?”

He kissed my forehead, then my lips, softly. “My desire is under my control.” It was a gentle reassurance before he stood and took care to reassemble his flawless appearance. “I will send someone with a new gown for you, do not worry or rush…you’ve fainted, remember?” There was a tint of a smirk to his lips.

“Thranduil…your highness?”

His brows arched expectantly.

“Why?”

“I told you, Adaneth, I was curious of your taste.”

He gave a long, slow, bow to me and swept out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (in order of usage):
> 
> Firen - human  
> Ethuil - Spring, the first season of the Elvish new year  
> Edain - Man, as in the species  
> Anod - Ent, the trees that are people in The Lord of the Rings  
> Adaneth - Woman, as in the female of the species Man  
> "Goheno nîn, Aran Thranduil" - "Forgive me, King Thranduil"  
> Ennor - Middle-Earth, as in not just earth/dirt, lol  
> Fân - (basically) veil of clouds  
> Edro - the imperative of open, as in it’s a command  
> Valar - “angelic powers” or “gods” subordinate to the one God  
> Thuia - breathe 
> 
> These are to the best of my knowledge using various sources, I claim no expertise in any form Elvish.


	2. Scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Men do not smell as you do…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve used Elvish in this, all translations are at the end.

I stepped out into the chilled morning air, inhaled the scent of dewy grass, and began my run. I ran every day, that would not change with celebration or foreign lands. I did it to keep up with my adopted people and I did it because I enjoyed it. The rush of passing trees, the soft thud of my boots into the mud, the racing of my heart as I pushed myself as hard and fast as my human body allowed. 

I took care in my path, avoided The Halls and did not venture too far from the palace lest I run into the creatures that lived, fed, in the darkest parts of Mirkwood. I had heard horrid stories, I did not wish to become part of one.

As I completed the first half of my circuit my thoughts turned to the night before. The way King Thranduil had examined, played with, me as if I were some new thing to be discovered. Cool hands transversing the peaks and valleys of my body, hot mouth devouring my taste, and skilled tongue delving deep into my cunt. How I felt; how he made me feel…undone.

I forced the thoughts, the pleasure and desire, aside to complete the task at hand.

* * * 

The music that lulled me to sleep the night prior had picked up tempo once more and gave me the inspiration to carry myself back to the guest quarters. Once in my room I locked the door and began to undo the front lace of my bodice, stripping it off and taking the deeper breath I required.

“You did not return to the festivities.” His voice wafted into my ears from behind. “Amman?”

I found myself in need of another deep breath. “I hadn’t the strength. The journey here was long, I had much wine, and…” I’d been left unable stand with his indulgence of me.

“And?”

He wanted to hear it; for me to say it aloud. I could feel his eyes as hid my blush in the removal of muddied boots. “And you had me.”

There was no sound to his approach, but he soon chuckled in my ear. “Edain are so delicate, the females especially so.” His hand skimmed my waistline, found its place in the downward slope of my stomach. His fingers spread and I felt myself flicker under his touch. “You’re wet.” The Elvenking pulled back my hair, inhaled my scent. “You smell…” his tongue ran along the curvature of my neck, “taste of hot salt.”

“I’m sweaty.” His deep moan from last night returned to cause the same shudders of my body. “Surely you’ve smelled the sweat of Men before.”

“Men do not smell as you do, Adaneth.”

“I should bathe.”

“Baw!” The snap made me jump before his hand steadied me against his form. “I wish to enjoy.”

“Enjoy?”

As if in answer teeth grazed shoulder, up neck, then caught and pinched flesh. I let my head fall back into his chest with a groan, arched back as he gave suck. I would be marked, of that I was certain.

“Aran nín,” I moaned as the scent of wildflowers recalled the night before.

From his throat came a deep chuckle that fell into a pleased growl. “Aran nín?” He questioned and I cringed, pulled away - that was not the correct thing to say. I was as composed as any Elf, but with him I lost control of my own self. “If that is the case, perhaps you should kneel for me.”

I turned in his grasp, looked down. “Forgive me, your majesty, I misspoke.”

A finger moved to lift my eyes to his. “I am not your king?”

“You are a great king, but you are not my king.”

“I am king of this land.” His lips struck mine, demanding submission. I gave it willingly, allowing his tongue entrance to my mouth. Golden hair curtained and I quickly fell back into the world that was created between us. By the time I had to break for air I was shaking. “You will kneel.” His amusement darkened with the azure of his eyes.

While I was not experienced with men, I was not so naive as to be unaware why Thranduil would want such a thing both as a king and as a man. I lowered my head, followed by my body, and sank before him. While the wildflowers remained, I also smelled the leather of his boots and britches. I looked up to find a commanding look turn confident..something in it gave me a rush, a desire to undo the great Elvenking as he’d undone me.

Slowly, with a tease to it, my hands began at ankles and rose. They crossed the rough and worn terrain of boots, slid over the smooth leather that covered his knees, legs, and thighs. There was a shift of fabric and his mantle poured to the floor. My fingers brushed the tops of his thighs, there was a soft moan, and I allowed one hand to continue inward.

The next moan was as significant as the growth of his cock against my hand. I looked up, saw eyes storming and mouth ajar. The intensity of it caused a wicked smile to cross my lips as I rubbed, pressed in, to massage his arousal. The heat of it came in waves and the smell of musk began to mix with the wildflowers and leather.

“Shall I?” I asked as my second hand moved up under his long tunic. He gave a single nod; I stripped him to the knees, he removed everything above.

Mouth opened, I looked him over. Wisps of blond caught the sun streaming in, making his chest shimmer. His cock jutted forward in arousal, bobbed slightly under its own length and weight. He was every bit his name…Vigorous Spring.

My first touch was tentative, unsure how to proceed or how he may react. There was a twitch, a low groan, from him that gave me confidence. I took him in hand, ran fingers over the top of his length, and watched him shiver. The rush of his reaction, knowing I could make it whenever I stroked him, pooled between my thighs. This was power; he must have loved last night.

Eyes dove into mine and what was once regal turned ravenous. Without looking away my tongue slid out across the tip of his member. It tasted of the ocean. My hands continued to stroke as I did it again, and again, eliciting rumbling groans from the king. I held him in limbo, allowing him only the pleasure I chose to give him…When he attempted to move closer, to thrust past my lips, I pulled back with a faint laugh. As his frustration built, so did my pleasure.

His hand stretched out, brushed across my hair, before grabbing. Head snapped back I grimaced a moment, but did not look away. Not this time, not anymore. Thranduil bent before me, his eyes stormed and voice thundered. “Baw telio!”

I exhaled only once he released me, watched as he straightened with warning eyes. As high as the thrill in teasing was, I did not dare outright disobey the Elvenking. My hands returned to his length, stroked faster, with more pressure, as I took the first inch of cock into my mouth. It swelled, pulsated, as I breathed in the heady scent of Mirkwood’s ruler: leaves after the first rain of Ethuil, ripened fruit, and the musk of something akin to an elk. The blend intoxicated, made my mouth water, as I took in inch after inch.

Only when I risked gagging did I stop, pull back to catch my breath. I continued my mouth’s retreat to suckle at his tip, collect the hot and sticky fluid that weeped, and moaned as the taste hit my tongue. He hissed and pressed forward so that I might devour again. I did. Greedily, with tongue exploring every pulsing vein and hot ridge. What mouth could not take, hands pleasured until Thranduil’s low sounds turned loud.

A hand returned to my hair, gripped once more, but he only encouraged. Pulled me into the soft curls of his groin, pushed into my mouth, as he began to designate the pace. Slow and steady at first, then quickening as gasps turned to grunts. Spit flowed from the sides of my mouth, down my chin, as arousal slickened my cunt and thighs.

With spare hand I explored the smoothness of his body. I let fingernails draw over pale skin, occasionally grip flesh to redness to ensure stability. When my hand found his sack he cursed in pleasure, thrusted so that I gagged. I began to rub, massage, and soon the king seemed to lose the remainder of his controls. The fist in my hair tightened, his pace grew driving as he fucked my mouth. I let him, set the hand once working his length to his hip and held on as his passions took over the both of us.

I gagged hard, nearly tipped back, as his cock shoved its full length nearly down my throat. Wet heat filled my mouth as he shook with a guttural roar; in shock I swallowed what I could and the rest spilled out from between my lips. I felt Thranduil’s hand tremble as he relaxed his hold on me, though he did not fully let go. Neither did I, not even as he shrank and softened against my tongue.

Another moment passed before he released me, his cock slipping out as he stepped back the best he could in his state. He was flushed in a manner I rarely saw, especially in Elves, as he worked to regain composure. He pulled his clothing back up and on as his breathing settled. He seemed neither cross nor pleased.

I stood up, wiped spit and spare cum from my mouth, unsure of what to do or say. Only when I opened my mouth to speak did he.

“You will come to the festivities tonight.”

“Athon.”

A smile bloomed on his face. “Aníron gin mibed.” His brows only arched with expectation.

I nodded and, with hands to cradle my face, his lips pressed into mine. Only when his tongue sought entry did I think to part my lips for him. He could taste himself, I knew it, but the moan suggested he did not mind. Perhaps he enjoyed it as he licked his lips after the kiss broke.

“Gin hannon.” The Elvenking gave me a final kiss on the cheek, then swept out of the room.

I smelled him all over me; I thought to skip my bathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used some Elvish - specifically Sindarin, which is what Thranduil speaks. Please don’t attack if I’m wrong on certain translations, I used a few sites and had to try and conjugate stuff myself and I’m not an Elvish expert, lol! (Also a mantle is basically the cloak or cape that royalty wear.)
> 
> Word Glossary (in order of usage):
> 
> Amman? - For what?/Why?  
> Edain - Men, as in the species  
> Adaneth - Woman, as in the female of the species Man  
> Baw! - No!/Don’t!/Do not!  
> Aran nín - translation: My king  
> Baw telio! - translation: Don’t play!  
> Ethuil - Spring, the first season of the Elvish new year  
> Athon - translation: Yes, I will  
> Aníron gin mibed - translation: I want to kiss you  
> Gin hannon. - translation: Thank you (informal form)


	3. Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Did you enjoy the sight of my dancing with others?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Elvish - specifically Sindarin, which is what Thranduil speaks - translations can be found at the end of the piece for those who are curious.

Of all the arts I was taught, I loved to dance most. My heart grew light in the beats, my worries swallowed by the tempo, as I felt one with Ennor and all things in it. In dancing I shook off insecurities to enjoy, to be. Even in this foreign land, surrounded by those who did not know me, I could not resist.

It seemed the Elvenking could, likewise, not resist watching. I felt his keen gaze the moment I’d stepped into the hall and it had yet to leave. It followed as I swayed, leapt, barefoot across the stone floor. I wondered if he enjoyed the flashes of skin as my gown spun out or thought about the marks he’d left now hidden behind a high collar.

Had he approached, had he shown the smallest interest beyond his stare, I’d have refused the others…but he did not and I did not. I obliged requests, allowed others to take my hand and gave myself over to their movements. The music swelled, swooned, and I laughed in the dizzying joy of being swept about.

At a partner’s kiss to my cheek I felt a change in the air. It stiffened, carried darkness in its breeze, and Mirkwood grew murkier. My skin chilled and heart burned; the urge to flee overcame me. Thranduil glared over the chalice at his lips, eyes frosted near black in a way that made me feel like prey. His prey.

I slipped away in search of wine, something to steady the nerves. I drank to near dizziness before I dared look towards the source of my unease again. He was gone, vanished with no signs of any unrest by his people or mine. I shook off the strangeness of it, but found myself too unsettled to continue in the festivities.

* * * 

The wine coursed through my veins, threw my balance to the winds, with every step. It warmed my body as the ground cooled me in equal measure. I would be sober soon, I was sure of it, I only needed fresher air. Yet, even out on a balcony, I could not find the reassurance of body and mind I sought. I felt, saw, the oncoming storm of the Elvenking’s eyes as I looked over the still forest below.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Adaneth?” The surface of Thranduil’s tone was curious, but the undertow caused me to shudder. “Did you enjoy dancing with the others?”

I stayed frozen, even my breath stalled.

“Dangwetho nin!”

“Did you enjoy the sight of my dancing with others?” I turned to blazing blue eyes, but would burn before I looked away “How my chest heaved, their hands on the small of my back and lips pressed to my cheek.” Elves were a possessive people, I knew this well, but could not resist as the king grew stunned in my words. It emboldened me. “Was it a pleasure to see me blush and my eyes sparkle at them?” I cast a glance across the tension of his body, then returned to his glare. “Do you fear I’ll kneel for them too, Aran Thranduil?” I whispered.

He caught me by the throat, crushed my smirk before it could bloom. I grabbed his wrist for stability as I felt myself tip back, over the balcony wall. The wind caught my hair, wove it into the stars with his. “Adaneth nín,” he declared, face holding a terrible beauty I could not look away from.

“Thranduil!” I croaked as winds and wine gave the sensation I was already falling. “Fasto!”

In a flash, before I had time to scream, he let go and pulled me into a bruising kiss by the hair. I returned its fervor, breathed in wildflowers and tasted his wine. He moved to neck, shoulder, collarbone. With each claim on me he left a new mark and, when fabric proved an impediment, he tore it away. I was soon bathed in moonlight, exposed to his every touch, as his teeth cherried my skin.

I swayed against the banister as the wind aided the Elvenking’s hands in lifting the skirt of my dress. Hot mouth devoured peaked nipples while fingertips floated, feather-lite, up leg, over thigh, and across pubic hair. The lighter his touch, the less stable I became. Every mark of my breast, every brush between my thighs, caused another shudder, another slip of my senses. I could feel myself floating through his darkness, dancing across his stars, only just making the leaps from one to the next.

We were out in the open, we could be seen by any passing by. I’d shown my interest in others dancing in the hall, Thranduil was showing his ownership of me just as publicly. I shut my eyes, but felt no desire to hide as the tip of his finger circled around my clit and I gasped a new flood to coat his fingers.

“Matho nin,” I moaned, half in this world, half in Valinor.

“Edro.”

I opened both mouth and legs to him. He set me on the edge, legs wrapped around him, as his tongue again demanded obedience I gave willingly. I gasped, groaned, when a single finger, devoid of rings, slipped into my cunt. The finger pulled back then reentered with another, then a third that burned slightly in its stretching of me. Thranduil’s voice floated by my ear, reminded me to breathe.

In the slow strokes of his fingers, in their skilled curls and pumps, my body caught fire. The chill of the night melted to the heat of desire as I began to rock, roll, into him. I saw stars with eyes closed and, once opened, I saw more. I saw him, his look of demand and desire for me, as he undid his britches. He gave no other warning before pulling me onto his cock.

I gasped, tensed, as vision grew blurry. My eyes sprang hot tears.

“Adaneth nín.”

It had not been slow, it had not been gentle, and it shook the breath from me.

He set a gentle hand on my back. “Thuio.”

My exhale was jagged as pain throbbed with each breath. I worked to relax, adjust, as he stayed deep, without movement. I closed my eyes, focused on his cooling touch as it moved around to the meeting of our flesh. The ache melted to only discomfort and even that faded in time. When I reopened my eyes I saw a curious Spring day looking back.

“Do you wish to continue?”

I did not expect the question, nor the care with which it was asked, but it made my answer easier. “I do.”

His kiss was no less passionate as he pulled back, then pushed forward once again. With eyes set on mine, watching every flicker of my face, the king moved slow and shallow. As much as he wished to show I was his, he wished to show he did not mistreat his things…especially his people.

My eyes dropped to watch his cock slide in and out of me, a sheen of arousal coating its length. It memorized and I rolled my hips into his next thrust so that he let out a low, pleasured, groan. I did it again, then again. His voice, his sounds, were the new song I would dance to. “I give myself to you, aran nín,” I moaned, caught the flesh of his neck between my teeth and marked him as mine so that he hissed his pleasure.

We began to meet each other, faster and more forceful, as my cunt grew to crave the full sensation he gave while inside. He swelled and I swooned, as his fingers attended to my clit, rubbing lightly and harshly in turns. I felt my passions spark back to life as my legs wrapped tighter around his waist.

It did not take long for him to reclaim control, reclaim me, with more marks. My nails dug into the back of his neck, his hand kept a bruising hold on my ass, as we huffed and grunted like beasts. I would smell of him again, he would taste me long after, and anyone who cared to look would recall the image we made.

The tension in my body built until I shook as his thrusts lost all pace and pattern. Fingers entwined in my hair and cock swelled as he throbbed, twitched, and let out a blessed curse. Heat filled me, coated my insides, and spilled down thighs as Thranduil rode his orgasm deep inside me. My eyes opened, caught the glance of nearby guard, then shut fast as my cunt began to flutter and flood with the king’s thrusts.

He pulled out, left me empty and sore, but held fast even as I went limp against him. I shivered in the cold before a cocoon of rich, velvety, silk surrounded me. Perhaps I should have opened my eyes, should have let him know I was merely exhausted, but I didn’t. I let the Elvenking gather me up in his cloak and carry me off.

What a sight we must have made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used some Elvish - specifically Sindarin, which is what Thranduil speaks. Please don’t attack if I’m wrong on these, I used a few sites and had to try and conjugate stuff myself and I’m not an Elvish expert, lol! 
> 
> Word Glossary (in order of usage):
> 
> Ennor - Middle-Earth  
> Adaneth - Woman, as in the female of the species Man  
> Dangwetho nin - translation: Answer me/Reply to me!  
> Aran Thranduil - King Thranduil  
> Adaneth nín - My Woman (again, as in the female of the species Man)  
> Fasto! - Please!  
> Matho nin - translation: Touch me (as in it’s a command)  
> Valinor - Land of the Valar/The Undying Lands; heaven-ish, but not heaven  
> Edro - Open  
> Thuio - Breathe  
> Aran nín - My king


	4. Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Shall I tell you then?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Elvish - specifically Sindarin, which is what Thranduil speaks - translations can be found at the end of the piece for those who are curious.

“Dartho.” For all our boldness on the balcony, I could feel insecurities creep in with the night air. If he left, without word or regard, he would confirm my foremost fear: I was not His Woman, just…Woman. Nothing special or important, just an experiment. A way to idle the time. It would break me.

“You should rest.” His tone suggested dismissal, but not his eyes. In his eyes was care. Concern. Even guilt. He worried he’d overwhelmed, even hurt, me. I was sure of it and that I could not leave him to believe it.

“I’m not tired, your majesty,” I shifted, wrapped his cloak tight against the chill. “And I do not wish to rest.”

“Edain are fragile, they require rest after…arduous activity.”

Something in the formality made me smile, almost laugh. “You mean after sex.”

“Yes, Adaneth,” the Elvenking smirked, turned blunt. “After sex.”

“And Elves? What do Elves require?”

He sat back in a chair, eyes starting to glitter. “Perhaps I should show you.”

“Oh no, your majesty!” I pulled back with a teasing smile. “Edain are fragile. They require rest after.”

He chuckled, smirked. “Shall I tell you then?”

“Please do.”

“Elves require sex.”

“More sex?”

“Always.”

“How would it start, aran nín?” My tone remained naive as I shifted my shoulders bare, licked my lips. “With a kiss on the lips?”

“Perhaps…perhaps to your neck.”

My hand went where the mark of his mouth had already bloomed. “Here?”

“Perhaps.”

“Or here?” I fingered another spot.

Thranduil only hummed his approval.

My fingers traced down to the hollow of my throat. “Is this the neck also?”

He nodded.

“It would not be enough, my king. I would want more.” I let the wrap slip farther, exposed the tops of my breasts. “Would you kiss my breasts, if I asked?”

“I would kiss them without asking.” There was a slight shift with his inhale, another with his breath out. His voice roughened. “Enjoy the taste of Ennor on your skin as I took them into my mouth, teased nipples to harness.”

I let his cloak fall to my waist as I ran hands across my breasts. His eyes followed and, when I gave a moan, he returned it with a bite to his lip. “Where is my mouth, my king?”

“Open, wanting, crying pleasures as I bite.”

“And my hands?”

“In my hair.”

“No.” I grabbed my chest. “I wish to feel your heart beat for me.”

His hand mirrored mine.

“To feel it speed up with desire, to enjoy the coolness of your body against the heat of mine.” The hand slipped under his robes, there was a noiseless parting of his lips. My naive tone darkened with demand. “Do you enjoy my heat, Aran Thranduil?”

“Very much.” His voice went deeper, eyes brighter.

"My hand, as it runs down your ribs, up your thighs…” I got up on knees, let him watch my hand glide to my sex. “Where next?”

“On me.”

“On you where?”

Again his hand went to mirror mine. Down, down, down. Fabric pulled aside, undone, and cock released. Already hard, dew drops of arousal were spread in a single stroke. He let out a breathless gasp, then deep growl.

Juices wet my hand at the sight, the sound. “Your cock.”

“Yes.”

“Stroking.”

“Yes.” The Elvenking did as I said. Slowly, firmly, as breaths grew heavy with his growl. He attempted to maintain control, but that would not do for me. He needed to lose it. He needed to grow wanton. Loud.

“That is not enough, aran nín.” I commanded. “I will use my mouth.” Moans escaped us both; he watched as I licked lips. “Taste you dripping across my tongue, down my throat. Feel your fingers in my hair. Your tip…” My coo was intentional, blatant, as I slid fingers into myself. “Pressing against the back of my throat.”

His growls turned to groans and back. He shifted, swallowed thickly, as his hand worked his cock. Eyes closed and chest rumbled as fingertips ran across the leaking head. He began to pant.

I timed breaths and moans with his, filled the room with our sounds. “You’ll force yourself deeper.”

“Athon.” The mutter fell into another throaty groan on a down-stroke. His free hand gripped the armrest as if he were unstable even sitting. Mouth agape, his chest fell and rose in near pants. Sounds grew fiercer, more animalistic, as he shook. Eyes closed, head back, Thranduil’s hand moved almost wildly.

“You’ll come.” My voice was low, suggestive.

“Athon.”

I stopped pleasuring myself, watched, ordered. “Scream my name.”

It was my true name - not used since first introductions - that roared out of him. Hands and robes were covered in strands of pearl-white cum. His hand slowed, body relaxed. He slumped. A king exhausted, spent, at his own touch…but my voice. Eyes opened, a Spring sky gazed at me. He repeated my name with a drowsy smile.

“Aran Thranduil.”

“Adaneth nín.”

I was his again as I lounged against pillows with a playful smirk. “Would your majesty care to rest after such…arduous activity.”

The arousal was still there, in his chuckle, as he wiped himself on already ruined clothing. He stood, disrobed, and approached with all the confidence of his station. A king. The Elvenking. He stood over me, I blinked up at him. “We’ve rested long enough.”

“We have.”

“Shall I make you scream?”

I smiled wide. “If you think you can, aran nín.”

“I’ll not to stop until I do.” He grabbed my ankles, pulled me to the edge as I laughed, then leaned over. “Not until my whole kingdom hears you cry out in pleasure.” It was a whisper as his cock slid in slow and deep and the first moan escaped my lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used some Elvish - specifically Sindarin, which is what Thranduil speaks. Please don’t attack if I’m wrong on these, I used a few sites and had to try and conjugate stuff myself and I’m not an Elvish expert, lol!
> 
> Word Glossary (in order of usage):
> 
> Dartho - Wait/Stay (as in a command)  
> Edain - Man, as in the species  
> Adaneth - Woman, as in the female of the species Man  
> Aran nín - My king  
> Ennor - Middle-Earth  
> Aran Thranduil - King Thranduil  
> Athon - Yes, I will  
> Adaneth nín - My Woman (with Woman as the female of the species Man)


	5. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Shall I have you?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Elvish - specifically Sindarin, which is what Thranduil speaks - translations can be found at the end of the piece for those who are curious.

The final night we danced among the others. My hand in his, his other around my waist, we floated across the hall as if the only ones there. Thranduil took care with his steps, his movements, ensuring I could keep up…ensuring I was not merely with him, but that we moved as one.

“You could stay, Adaneth nín.”

I looked up to a hopeful face that made mine fall. I dropped my gaze to answer. “You know I could not.”

“Why not?”

My eyes lifted again, watched clouds roll in on azure eyes…not of anger, but defeat. “Because I will die.” I breathed into the next sweep across the floor. “Because I will not be responsible for the fading of The Great Elvenking, or any Edhel for that matter.”

“I have survived the deaths of others.”

“And I will not be the one that pushes you past the limits of loss.”

Thranduil’s gaze made clear he intended to argue, but mine held firm in the final turn of our dance, the final note of our song. He bowed his head in respect and resignation, though did not let go of me. “I will stay with you until we must part.”

“If you wish, aran nín.”

* * * 

Though he did not need it, Thranduil rested beside me. His fingers explored without intent, braided hair, settled across breasts for my heart to beat against. He breathed deep the scent of my skin, pressed lips to the curve of my neck, licked up my spine. He did this all while trying not to disturb me, humming lullabies when he sensed movement that suggested discomfort. He did this until I drifted to sleep.

When I woke, turned to him, his eyes shone with the breaking dawn. Still, there was a melancholy in him that I could feel as surely as I could the warmth of the oncoming sun. I gave a faint smile, brushed hair from his face. “There will be no love greater than this for me.”

“Then why do you leave?”

“Because I must.” I kissed his lips and felt a submission in the return. With another I straddled him, enjoyed his hands smoothing across my thighs. He was the epitome of what Elves were meant to be - pure, graceful, powerful. “Le bainon.”

“No more than you,” he countered softly.

I leaned down to kiss, to set my bare chest to his, and a hand immediately buried into my hair. He did not pull or grab, only combed, felt between his fingers. I did the same before moving a hand to his face, brushing eyebrows and nose and cheeks and lips. It went beyond appreciation; I wanted to remember every inch of him. I wanted to remember how he looked, how he smelled, how he felt and tasted. “Aníron gin mathad.”

He only gave a nod in reply before catching my lips with his. The kiss was deep and slow, akin to our dance, as we savored each other. My hand caressed his jawline, moved up to his ear, admiring its point, then back down to his neck and broad shoulders. His hand left my hair in favor of my neck, then lower as it slid down to the curve of my ass.

There was desire, but no dominance, in the grab. It was a desire I reflected in a moan and slight roll of the hips over him. He smirked, grabbed harder as his other hand joined. I gave a small laugh, shifted up to display my body in the next roll of hips. I watched his eyes flicker, the sun catch in his hair, with a moan as if he were blooming.

“Aran nín.” My hands flowed down his chest, his ribs, his waist and hips. I took hold, slid myself down across his thighs and manhood. I bowed low, pressed lips to his throat, licked the hollow of it, and felt low rumbles of pleasure against my mouth. I continued across a sunlit chest, watched muscles ripple, felt cock come to life beneath me. “Shall I have you?”

A smirk spread across the Elvenking’s face. “My Woman shall have whatever she pleases, myself included.”

There was no pain like the first time; now there was only pleasure in feeling each inch of him enter. We shared the moan, our bodies shuddered together. Both of us stayed still, indulged, before I began a slow rock. I reached back, took his hands, and set them at my breasts. “Matho nin.”

One hand stayed, the back of it brushed hardened nipples, as the other’s fingertips strolled down my body. They detoured up and down ribs, swept over stomach and the sides of thighs. This wasn’t teasing, it was worship. His breaths timed with mine as his eyes swallowed me like the sea.

I gasped, bucked hard, when his fingers found my clit. Waves of arousal flowed between us, crashed into the pit of my stomach, released floods of desire across his cock. His fingers knew me now, they knew where to touch and how. His hand knew to abandon breasts and wrap me down into a kiss.

Thranduil greeted my moan with his own, his tongue danced with mine between nips to my bottom lip. He shifted, sat us up with my legs around his waist. He held me close. I felt his heart, smelled the wildflowers and trees, as we shared the same breath over and over. As in our first meeting I felt everything else fall away. He and I were all that existed and we existed together, as one.

We both shook, both shuddered, in one another’s arms. The build was slow, steady, but more passionate than all other times. I considered, briefly, that we’d passed exploration and enjoyment for love…but that could not be. This was the end, not the beginning. This could not be a beginning.

Hips worked faster, I went for his hair, but he stopped me this time. This time his hand moved to take mine as if we were again dancing. The Elvenking put me under him in one swift move, took over the pace. I relaxed, gave over to him, and let my pleasures be heard in moans that grew loud. Moans he smothered in kisses, then let free as his mouth attempted to memorize the rest of my body.

Slow and steady gave way to faster, deeper, thrusts as his own arousal grew. I could feel it in his heart, in the way he gripped my hand and growled against my breast. My muscles began tense and relax in waves that warned of the oncoming floods and I began to lose breaths before I could catch them. I wriggled, writhed, cried out my king’s name as his fingers teased across my clit. My cunt fluttered, then clamped to hold the full length of him within me. As I came I could feel every inch, every vein. I could feel him pulse and swell before his own orgasm roared out of him. I felt the heat of his release fill me so that I gasped, then sighed, in a final pleasure.

It was he who collapsed first and it was he who begged we not move after. Perhaps it was the need to recover, but as he shifted to hold me tight I imagined it was to linger in the sensation of our joining. It was to delay the end as long as possible.

* * * 

I was the last of my party to leave the kingdom; one of the few to be seen off by Thraduil himself. He helped me to pack the horse, helped me upon it. “Harthon ad-govatham.” His voice was soft, sad.

“Gin melon.” Mine matched as I forced a smile.

The great Elvenking only bowed his head as his hand rubbed my leg a moment. Then he let go, stepped back, and gave a final bow as my journey out of Mirkwood began.

I did not look back. I could not. If I did I’d see the mournful fog in his eyes and all resolve would break. I could not have that. Not for him and not for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, to be clear on the timeline, an entire day or two of celebrations and sex has passed between the last piece and this one. I used some Elvish - specifically Sindarin, which is what Thranduil speaks. Please don’t attack if I’m wrong on these, I used a few sites and had to try and conjugate stuff myself and I’m not an Elvish expert, lol! This is very likely the final piece…though if I have an epilogue it will not come for awhile due to scheduling.
> 
> Word Glossary (in order of usage):
> 
> Adaneth nín - My Woman (with Woman as the female of the species Man)  
> Edhel - Elf (as in the species)  
> Aran nín - My king  
> Le bainon - You are so beautiful  
> Aníron gin mathad - I want to touch you  
> Matho nin - Touch me  
> Harthon ad-govatham - I hope we will meet again  
> Gin melon - I love you


End file.
